Page 22 of A Reputation Dark & Deadly

Chapter 6

Peyton groaned. Her head was pounding, like a base drum, and even reaching up to clutch it with her hands before opening her eyes made no difference. She needed an aspirin. And some water. And some food. However, the thought of food caused her stomach to twist and turn in rebuttal and she whimpered, turning on her side and bringing her knees closer to her chest. It didn't exactly alleviate her pain but it definitely helped in that it didn't add anything to it.

As she buried her head deeper into the soft pillows, Peyton suddenly realized that this bed did not feel like her own small bed. It felt bigger, the sheets not as scratchy. Even the pillowcases felt cool and soft against her face, not rough where there might be a small rash on her face for a couple of hours.

Where the fuck was she?

Immediately, she sat straight up in the bed, snapping her eyes open. Instead of being able to make anything out, she saw stars. She let out a painful groan and grabbed her head once more. Her movements were too fast, her gestures to harsh.

"Not very fucking bright, sweetheart."

The minute she heard that familiar sandpaper voice, Peyton forced her head up so she could get used to the soft lighting. When her eyes got used to the light, she found Logan Jeffrey himself, standing at the edge of what appeared to be a king-sized bed. He was wearing grey denim jeans with a black belt and a simple what t-shirt that clung to his body in all the right places. No leather jacket, although his hair was slicked back.

The minute she saw him, she closed her eyes and groaned. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice coming out raw. She swallowed, trying to moisten it but it did nothing to ease the slight pain that touched her throat.

His eyebrows snapped up, not fully believing she had actually asked him such a question. "I fucking live here, sweetheart," he told her, "or did you forget that after your sad fucking attemptto get shitfaced with the other loser grad students, I brought you home with me?"

Peyton's face paled at the thought and she forced her eyes back open so she could look at him. "You mean we..." She couldn't find it in herself to finish her question and her eyes filled with tears. "My first time and I don't even remember it. Fuck." She shook her head and let herself lean forward so the tears fell from her face with ease. She completely forgot Logan was still standing in the room - his bedroom - staring down at her.

"Whoa," he said, placing his hands up. "You think for one fucking second that I would take advantage of you even if I want to fuck you?" He looked genuinely furious that she would even think that and as Peyton took the sight of him in, she couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt start to weave itself in her gut, which definitely did not help her nausea. "I already fucking told you how fucking important consent is to me. You think you were fucking capable of consenting to anything? That's a fucking joke. Do you honestly think I would have fucking brought you here if you weren't fucking bad?"

Peyton's head throbbed as her stomach pooled with shame. There was a spark of anger lodged in his tawny gaze, but more than that, there was something else. A soft glisten, almost as though he was hurt. Which was a ridiculous notion because Logan didn't seem to be the type to care what other people thought of him. She clenched her teeth together and looked away. She couldn't look at him, not when he was looking at her like that.

"Just so you fucking know, I wouldn't," he muttered. "And the fact that I have to tell you" -

"You don't." Peyton's face burned and she couldn't bring it in herself to pick her head up and look into his eyes. "I shouldn't have..." She shook her head. Finally, she was able to lift her gaze so they tentatively met his. "I'm sorry."

Logan's brow furrowed. "You're fucking saying that a lot, you know?" he asked. "I've never had anyone apologize so fucking much to me in my entire tenure here. You're a real piece of work, sweetheart."

"Well, you're not that peachy either," Peyton bit back without thinking. The minute the words were out of her mouth, her eyes shot up to Logan's once more just to gage his reaction. Besides a flicker of annoyance in his irises, he was smirking with amusement.

"Your mouth is going to get you into trouble one day," he warned her, "and I hope to have a fucking front row seat for the shitstorm you create."

"Why am I here?" Peyton blurted out. She leaned her head against the smooth mahogany headboard, trying to keep eye contact with him but her headache was making it nearly impossible to do so.

"What do you mean?" Logan asked.

Peyton rolled her eyes. "Come on, Professor Jeffrey," she told him. "Why am I here? In your room? I'm not trying to insinuate you took advantage of me but... why am I here?"

Logan furrowed his brow even deeper before shifting his eyes. He looked deep in thought, like he was churning over each word carefully before responding. "Karla fucking called," he finally said, crossing his arms over his chest. Peyton ignored the way the indirect flex of his biceps caused his tshirt to stretch just a little too tight. "You were fucking wasted, out of your goddamn capacity to do anything. Some guy was hanging all over you, and somehow, in your fucking drunk state, you still had the cognition to say no. But he wouldn't listen. He didn't fucking force you to do anything but he didn't leave you alone either. Karla couldn't find your friend - she's a real fucking piece of work, that one; I remember her - so she called me."

Peyton blinked. "But why?" she asked.

"What do you mean, why?" Logan asked, his brow furrowed once more. He was doing that a lot with her and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that, to be honest.

"You don't care about me, Professor" -

"Stop calling me that," he snapped.

Now it was her turn to furrow her brow, which did nothing for her headache.

"I'm not your fucking professor right now," he continued, his voice still filled with defensive derision.

"Then what are you?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she looked away. "Karla has this weird notion in her head that sleeping with you would make my life a lot easier. The problem is, I have no desire to sleep with you in order to make my life easier. I don't just sleep with people. That's not who I am. I don't know if she called you to set me up with you" -

"Karla isn't that way," he said. "She called me for a fucking reason. Somehow, she fucking benefits." He rubbed his chin, looking away. His posture was relaxed but there was still a tenseness in his shoulders that hadn't eased. Finally, he looked back at her, locking eyes with her. "I came to fucking get you because Karla said some fucking jock strap was in your face and even though you kept fucking saying no, he kept on you like a goddamn shadow."

Peyton's eyes widened a fraction. She hadn't expected that answer, hadn't expected he actually cared about her. Her body flooded with warmth but she didn't know how to express that so she felt awkward and unsure. It was easy when Logan was nothing more than an attractive jackass. She knew how to handle those. She didn't know what to make of a caring attractive jackass.